So How Was Your Year?
by newxyorkxloser
Summary: She wasn't drunk at the party, either. She wasn't drunk but she was the one who kissed me first. CarlyxSam twoshot :D
1. Chapter 1

Christt. XD I'm just giving up on the other story I tried to write.

Which means it'll probably be up in the next week. o

I've had pneumonia. And stomach flu. Not fun.

But I'm backkkk! :D

Oh, stop whining. You had plenty of time away from me D:

--

_**September**_

I'm exhausted. We've only been back in school for 2 weeks and I'm already ready to quit and christ. I'm going to start getting gray hairs if I have to go on like this for two more months before we get a four day weekend. A stupid fucking four day weekend. I've been sitting at home for 3 months not doing anything and not worrying about the essay due next week or what horrible thing they might put on the lunch menu tomorrow or what I'm going to wear. How do they expect me to do this? Honestly.

I can't do this.

"Sam?" She's saying from next to me, her hands held obviously behind her back.

"Carly?" I'm tired, Carly. Not now. Please not now. I love you, but just let me go to sleep and cry and bitch for a little while until I get used to having to report to hell every day.

"Ham?" She's saying, grinning at me hopefully and holding out a piece of lunch meat. She's sweet.

I'm too depressed to even smile at that. I'm too depressed to think in anything more than tiny chunks of sentences. Which is weird, because normally my mind's going a million miles a minute. Not today.

I hate September.

I'm forcing a smile and collapsing forward onto her, grabbing the slice of meat out of her hand with my mouth and falling comfortably on her chest, arms around her neck. God, she's so warm. She's radiant and happy and it's like just touching her makes it rub off on me, too. She's magic. I swear to god, she's magic.

Yeah, so what if that's my explanation for everything? What, does it make me a bad person or something?

"You really hate school, don't you?" Carly's asking, knowing full well I only ever do this when I'm honestly feeling like shit. She's used to it. I think it annoys her, the way I always get all gloomy and lay on top of her for hours on end, but she's sweet, so she lets me do it anyway. Her hand's in the hair that I didn't even bother to curl today and her head's resting on top of mine, while I nod almost pathetically.

Everything seems to move in slow motion in September. It's the start of something that seems like it's never, ever going to end and you can't even count the months until it ends, because even that number's way too big. Things like school shouldn't even be allowed to exist. It's cruel and unusual and I don't even understand how they can make it illegal for us not to go.

I kind of tend to group all the mysterious faceless people into a single person and call this strange, blobby person 'they'. It makes things so much less complicated.

"Hey.. Don't worry. I'll make this year not suck, alright?" She's saying, and she's talking into my hair and I can't help but smile. Partly because it tickles, and partly because she's so fucking sweet and she's the only person who seems to understand that September to me is honestly like starting out a sentence in prison.

I'm being depressing and all I can say is, "Good luck." And I don't think I've felt this crappy since the start of seventh grade, after I came out in sixth grade and I came back for school in September and I could feel everybody's eyes on me wherever I went. I've never had a year as bad as that since, but it sort of ruined the whole school thing.

I don't like people. Especially not Freddie. Everybody thinks I'm kidding when I'm a fucking whore to him.

I'm not.

He needs to stop following Carly around. It's creepy as fucking hell and it's rude, because it's not like he's _my_ friend, but he's still always fucking there. And yes, I, Sam Puckett, did just bitch about somebody being rude.

I'm not jealous or anything though. Why would I be jealous? I wouldn't be.

I'm totally not jealous. Honestly.

Strangely enough, thinking about people I hate is actually putting me in a better mood, so I'm looking up at Carly and I'm smiling just the tiniest bit and she's smiling back and for a moment there it feels almost like we're not just best friends.

Maybe I'm just a little bit jealous.

--

_**October**_

"Fuck me in the backseat, fuck me in the backseatttt.." I'm singing horribly and I'm grabbing her and I'm grabbing her and dragging her into the beat seat of my mom's car, grinning like a drunken wreck. I'm acting it, but honestly, no, I'm not drunk. Unfortunately. God, I can't wait until the Halloween parties start up. _Then_ I'll be drunk, alright.

She always responds differently every time I do this--Sometimes she just sighs and does the best job she can at preserving her dignity, sometimes she laughs a little and once she laughed and pushed me inside and slammed the door.

Today's one of those good days.

"I wanna see your panties drop girl now!" She's grinning at me and tugging at my thong, the tiniest bit of which was visible from the front of my jeans when my shirt was pulled up like it is now. And she's laughing and she's tackling me and pinning me to the backseat and thank god my mom's off looking for us.

"Well, if you insist.." I'm grinning suggestively at her and she's smiling back and christ, it's so fucking sexy when she does that.

"So, what're we doing for Halloween?" She's asking, still on top of me, pinning me down by my wrists. And yes, I know that she's my best friend, but god damn, I wish she was into girls at times like this. She's my best friend, but christ. She's hot.

Just my best friend.

"Each other?" I'm saying, grinning hopefully. "Uhmm.. there's a party at what's her face's place tomorrow. She's usually got tons of booze."

"Is that all you ever think about?" She asks a lot of questions, I'm realizing. She asks things and plans things and tries to figure things out and I spew out obscure items of her possible interest and hope it's what she wants to hear.

I'm looking her up and down and my lips are curling into a hint of a smile and I'm growling softy, "Well.." My voice trails off and we both burst out laughing. Yeah, I know, it's weird. Nobody who knew me a year ago would ever expect me to be such a raving hormonal flirtatious.. thing, but I am. Why? It's hilarious watching Freddie try to beat me up for "hitting on his woman" or some bullshit, because apparently his having a penis and wanting Carly makes her his.

It's cute. In the pathetic kind of way. It's like a dying puppy or something. I hate dogs, but I can't help but almost feel bad for it. And yes, Freddie is no longer enough of a human to be considered either a he, a she or even a heshe. It's just it now.

She's sighing and she's rolling off of me just as my mom's pulling open the door, and I'm wondering vaguely if she's psychic or if she's just been looking out the window the whole time she's been on top of me, because yes, she is absolutely terrified of my mother and appalled at the fact that the woman thinks that we're fucking all night long and that's why I never leave Carly's house.

I mean, the fact that she doesn't feed me at home couldn't possibly have anything to do with my reluctance to ever be at home, could it?

God. That ugly stupid creature makes even the sexiest situations absolutely awkward and pathetic and deader than Freddie and it's resemblance of a dying puppy, which is very, very dead because now that I think about it, Freddie's already rotted in it's grave.

We're driving home and it's totally silent except for the hum of the car's engine and her pinky finger's wrapped around mine. I'm glancing up at her curiously, but she's looking away.

--

_**November**_

"So, Sam." She's saying from under the coffee table. I'm pretty sure she was doing something important under there but we found this bottle of rum and I think I put away about 3/4 of it so my head doesn't feel so good and I can't remember what it was exactly.

"So, Carly." I'm wondering I'm slurring my words, because I'm pretty sure that people do that when they're drunk, and I'm pretty sure I'm drunk now because I felt a lot like this on Halloween while I had Carly pushed up against the wall in the corner of that one girl's house, who's name I still can't remember. I barely remember it but I remember how her lips tasted like sugar and beer and it was just for a second because then I remember bursting out laughing and saying that she was straight and then I stumbled off to god knows where.

Twice in a week is a bit much for me to be drunk, but whatever. It's not that much alcohol and I'm not that drunk so it doesn't really count and it's not like I'm sitting here putting away 10 beers or something, so it's okay. Besides, it's just me and Carly and we're having fun and it's not like we're going to get raped or something.

I'm laying upside down from her couch and I'm looking at her through the mess of hair that's falling over my eyes and she's chewing on her lip like she's not sure if she wants to say what she's trying to say, but then she finally just blurts out, "Did you hook up with Jessica at that party?"

"Why?" Yeah, I did. I think I did. I woke up in my thong in her bed next to her at 4AM, puked and then walked up, and that's usually a good sign that you hooked up with somebody. Christ, she's going to lecture me now, isn't she? She is. I can just feel it. Carly never lectures but she's going to lecture me and then she's going to take away the tiny little bit of rum that I have left and then I'm going to be sad.

"Did you?" She's asking, and she's looking right at me and I'm amazed because her eyes won't move from mine at all, not even for a moment to glance at the bottle of rum. Why does it matter to her? She's acting like she's my girlfriend or my mom or something and she's not. She's just my best friend and since when is it her business who I sleep with?

I'm pushing myself back into what is closer to a sitting position than anything else, but really isn't sitting at all and it's impossible to describe. It just is. "I think so." I'm saying, putting the bottle back to my lips and chugging the last, burning drops down and fucking god, I love how that feels.

"Oh."

"Why?" I'm asking, pushing my drunken body up and stumbling across the room and pulling open the window. Why does it matter to her? It's so obvious that it matters because she's still under the table and she's asking me stupid questions and she isn't giving me any reason why and it's not like it's a rumor or something because she would've said so by now. I'm glancing out the window for a moment and then I'm hurling the bottle as hard as I can outside so that Spencer won't find it and turn into Carly's dad or something.

She's not saying anything and I'm pulling the window shut again and stumbling towards her and god, why isn't she fun? Why isn't this fun? Being drunk is supposed to be fun and we're supposed to be laughing at everything and slapping our thighs and falling when we try to stand up but she's just laying under there and my vision's all blurry and my head's spinning and the whole world's spinning.

I'm sitting back down again on the couch and I'm actually sitting this time, and I'm pretty sure that my head's moving to keep up with how much everything's spinning. I'm looking down at her again and she's looking right back at me, and we just stay like that for a little while before she crawls out from under the table and sits down beside me, pulling my into her lap and wrapping her arms around my neck.

"Hey Carls..?" I'm asking vaguely. My eyes are closed but I can still feel everything spinning around me and it's like I'm a planet and I can feel myself spinning and everything's spinning and this would be pretty cool if it wasn't for the way my stomach's reacting to it. "How come you're not acting drunk?"

"You drank the whole bottle."

"Oh."

She wasn't drunk at the party, either. She wasn't drunk but she was the one who kissed me first.

--

_**December**_

December's always made me feel uneasy. It's weird and it's cold and it's eerie and it always makes me think of all the abandoned snow covered streets and it makes me think of walking alone in the middle of the night under a flickering streetlight and it makes me feel so, so alone and it makes me feel like the rest of the world's gone away and honestly, December scares me. Cold snowy December nights scare me.

They make me feel like I'm going to be alone forever.

Which, of course, is why I spend every possible moment on Carly's bed, drinking cup after cup of hot chocolate and plate after plate of ham, which I can still manage to do without breaking out or gaining a pound, which is probably one of the only things that I like about myself.

I thank fingering myself to pass the time.

Yes, I do have that much time on my hands that I can actually balance out how much I eat with masturbation. Try to hold your applause, I know that I'm amazing.

"Sam, you like some weirdass music." Christ, I hate hearing that thing speak. It really should just be shot and be put out of it's misery and in the process everybody around it can be put out of their misery as well. Why is it even touching my iPod, anyway?

"And that's a pretty weirdass mask you wear all the time." Lame. Whatever. I'm too tired to even bother arguing with it properly--it's not worth the effort. I just want to sit here and gain weight in peace on Carly's (my) bed in Carly's (my) apartment with (my) Carly. Is that really so much to ask for? Why is that creature here? Why? "Hey, if you're gonna sit around here, go make me some more hot chocolate."

"What am I, your slave?" It's groaning, not moving from it's place and not taking it's grubby little nerd hands off my iPod. Christ, I hope it washed it's hands since the last time it jacked off.

"No. You'll work your way up to that."

Go away. Please, just go away. God fucking dammit, there are simply no words to describe how much I hate him. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him. I wish he would just go the fuck home because he's obviously not welcome here but he neverr seems to catch on. Jesus christ, I wish he would catch on and go away and never come back and maybe take a few too many pills so that I'd never have to see him again.

Shit. When did I start calling it 'him' again? It's not good enough to be called a him.

But, oh god. A world without Freddie Benson. I would sleep for the rest of my life if I could just dream about such a wonderful, magical world. It's better than ham. It's so, so much better than ham. It's better than ham and bacon and pork chops and ribs and pork fried rice all deep fried together.

Why is it even here in the first place?

"Carlyyy.." I'm whining, hanging my head off the bed and looking around for her.

"Sammm..." I'm so out of it and I'm so bored and I'm so desperate to see her that I can't even tell if she's being serious or if she's mocking me, all I care about is that I'm hearing her voice and she's in the room and I don't have to endure _it_ anymore. It doesn't even get to have the i capitalized. It has to work to get something like that.

"I hate winter." Christ, I hate the sound of it's voice.

"Why're you talking?"

--

That was the longest two hours of my entire fucking life. Jesus fucking christ. I've never been so happy to hear Carly's door slamming shut as I am right now. I'm away from that stupid, disgusting, vile, penis-wielding creature.

But she's here and I'm here and we're here.

"So, have you ever had a girlfriend, anyway?" She's asking, dropping a ripped up piece of ham in my mouth. I'm laying on her couch and she's leaning over me and I can see right down her tank top and I also have the most amazing view of her eyes, and I know that it's kind of weird putting those two in the same sentence, but it's just what I can see.

"No." I'm replying simply, speaking through bits of half chewed up ham and a bit of cheese stuck on one of my left molars from the bacon egg and cheese sandwich I ate this morning.

"Have you ever even kissed a girl?" I love that tone. She's not judging and she's not being stupid or snippy or intruding and it has that tiny hint of comedic hysteria and it's just the most adorable thing you will ever hear in your shot, pitiful, Carly-less life. Just trust me.

Everything that takes place in December always seems poetic. It seems cold and unnecessary and it feels like it'll be worn of and gone by the time things start to matter if it happens in January, and if it happens in November all you ever think of is leftover pumpkins and the last leaves fluttering down to earth. December is soft and quiet and in retrospect, every word and action seems to be days premeditated and planned and perfect and rehearsed and it's like it was part of a play or something. December gives everything an aura of perfection. It's like everything in December has some deep meaning about life, and if you could only dig far enough you'd be able to understand it.

"I've kissed you. And Jessica. I think." They seem stupid and choppy and almost cold now, but I know when I look back on them they're going to have some secret meaning and the way her eyes dart nervously about the room and the sound of hail battering the glass windows outside. It's all going to mean something. It's going to be poetic and meaningful even if it's just words and simple involuntary actions and stupid weather conditions.

"That doesn't count."

"Why not?"

"You have to be sober for it to count." She's saying firmly, feeding me another piece of ham.

"Says who"? I ask, before I crane my neck up and pull the piece of meat out of her grasp.

"Says me."

It's weird, but I listen to her. I always listen to her. I don't know why, but I do. I do whatever she tells me to and I don't question it or bitch about it and I just fucking do it. Why do I do that?

"Well, do you wanna kiss a girl?"

Another thing about December is that everything's sort of depressing and still, so when you look back on things, they all have this underpainted feeling of perfection in depression. Like a starving artist. All the smiles and laughter feels forced and feels like you were acting the whole time because nobody can ever be teenager-happy in December. Any happiness feels years above it's receiver's maturity, or it gives off the amazing feeling of the simplicity of the things that make babies smile.

December makes me think of smiling babies clapping their hands and drooling on themselves.

"Duh." That word breaks the December rule. Duh can never seem poetic or beautiful, even in Decembers in retrospect. Nothing will ever make the word 'duh' poetic. Ever.

Hopeful depression. That's what the underpainting is. It's weird. It's depression, but it's got hope because it's only winter and there's so much time for things to get better and there's so much time left to smile.

Her lips are on mine and she's not shoving her tongue down my throat like Jessica did because her tongue's not even in my mouth. She's not making out with me and she's only brushing a single finger against my cheek and I don't think she even realizes it because it's just the tip and it's barely touching me at all, and that's what's making my stomach feel the way it does more than anything else.

It's weird because it's just a stupid kiss and it's not like one of those stupid romance novels where, "Her touch sent shivers down my spine and all of the hairs on my arms stood up straight, while jolts of electricity raced through my body!!111oneone. Oh, I love her so." Because it's not, and I doubt that sort of thing ever really happens. It's just written for all the stupid lovesick people in the world who can't go out and fall in love on their own.

Still though, she makes me feel something.

And it's scary.

All she does is smile and walk over to the kitchen and all I can do is sit there and stare at the t.v.

Where did all of this come from?

--

_**January**_

Radiohead. January makes me think of Radiohead, and Radiohead makes me think of Janurary.

It's cold. It's way too fucking cold. I'm wearing jeans and a t-shirt and I had a sweatshirt but Carly was cold, so now I don't have it anymore. I don't mind, but honestly. Why does it have to be so fucking cold? It's too cold for it to even snow.

January's the most pointless, depressing month. It's only five weeks long but it's the longest five weeks of the entire fucking year. I hate Januaries. I hate them, I hate them, I hate them.

"I'm bi." She's trying to sound casual and she's trying to act like it's no big deal to her, but she's sitting all stiff and her hand's staying in the popcorn bowl for just a bit too long, and the effort she's putting into not looking at me is so obvious. She's trying to pretend it doesn't matter but it does, and it's like she wants my approval or something.

"For real?" I'm asking, like it's not big deal to me neither. It shouldn't be, but it is. It matters. It matters so much to me and it's weird as fuck. She's my best friend but I'd do anything for her to love me. It's so fucking stupid and it's so fucked up but it's so natural and it's happening and I can't stop it and christ, I want to make these stupid feelings and these stupid hormones and this stupid sex drive all just go away.

If only she knew the feelings her words are inspiring in the pit of my stomach.

I'm expecting her to crack a joke or something, but she's just chewing on her lip, and then I'm realizing that it really does matter to her. I can't help but bite at my own lip, feeling my chest tighten up--is she disgusted with herself? She's disgusted. What the fuck.

"Yeah." Her answers are short and simple and forced and she still won't look at me.

Why won't she look at me?

She's chewing on her lip, still, and her free hand's clutched on her upper thigh and her knuckles are white, veins sticking out.

My sense of humor's dead and buried next to hers. "Oh."

"Yeah."

--

**SAMWUZHERE1993: **O HAI

**carlyxxcanivingx: **heyy

**SAMWUZHERE1993: **WHEN U GONNA GET RID OF DAT SCENE SN BITCH?

**carlyxxcanivingx: **idkk.

**carlyxxcanivingx: **too lazy.

**carlyxxcanivingx: **laterr. i guesss. whateverr.

**SAMWUZHERE1993: **OKAI

**SAMWUZHERE1993: **OMG DUDE

**SAMWUZHERE1993: **I FUCKING LOVE YOUTUBE

**SAMWUZHERE1993: **HERE'S UR METH BB, UR METH DEALA, UR METH BF AND DONT FORGET UR METH FACE

**carlyxxcanivingx: **lol

**SAMWUZHERE1993: **D:

**SAMWUZHERE1993: **WHO IS U?

**SAMWUZHERE1993: **WHAT DID U DO WITH CARLY?

**carlyxxcanivingx: **sorryy..

**SAMWUZHERE1993: **WAT

**SAMWUZHERE1993: **BITCH DID IT EAT MY HAM?

**SAMWUZHERE1993: **iT SHIT DAT WAZ CLOSE

**carlyxxcanivingx: **nahh.

**carlyxxcanivingx: **ill ttyl

**SAMWUZHERE1993: **WAT

**SAMWUZHERE1993: **WAI?

**SAMWUZHERE1993: **NO :'(((((((((((

**SAMWUZHERE1993: **FUCK U

**carlyxxcanivingx: **you're mean.

**SAMWUZHERE1993: **:'(

**carlyxxcanivingx: **bye.

**SAMWUZHERE1993: :'(**

**SAMWUZHERE1993: **I LOVE YOU :'(

**carlyxxcanivingx: **...:

**carlyxxcanivingx: **ilyt

She's supposed to say that. Right? She's my best friend, of course she would tell me she loves me too.

No. She wouldn't.

I'd know it already if she was my best friend.

What the fuck is going on?

--

_**February**_

"I.. WANT.. YOUR.. BABIES.. LOVE.. SAM?"

I'm grinning at her hopefully, green sharpie held uncapped in one hand, blue in the other. I'm thoughtful, I know. Well, this way everybody knows that she's my property (my name's probably twice the size of the rest of the words, and there's a giant red heart next to it.

"I want your meth babies." I'm saying, turning around and chucking the sharpies back into the pencil box on one of the desks in the social studies room that we're standing outside of. Actually, since I can't actually get pregnant from her (which is for the better--I'm terrified of pregnancy) what I really want is to just lay in a bed for hours 'trying' to get pregnant. Which really just means that I wish I could fuck her fucking brains out.

Christ.

"Why the love?"

Shit. Jesus mother fucking christ, she has nice lips. "Because I love you, stupid."

She's looking at me for a moment, and her eyes are like chocolates and even though on Valentine's day the damn things are everywhere, I still can't look away. I'm staring at her and she's staring back, lips barely curved up in the tiniest hint of a smile and I'm feeling my throat get dry and my stomach slosh around.

I'm smiling just the tiniest bit back and oh my god, she's so gorgeous. She shouldn't be allowed to be so perfect.

"CARLY OH MY GOD COME WITH ME THERE MUST BE SO MUCH FUCKING CHOCOLATE IN YOUR LOCKER."

--

"Hey, Sam?"

Spencer's gone--he's out rooting through dumpsters and trash bins and old abandoned couches for his new inspiration. _It_ isn't allowed out--somehow, it's mom found out that it'd been lying about shampooing it's hair twice, and now it wasn't allowed to go out. Christ, it's _how_ old and it still has to sign that damn thing. Serves it right.

We're alone and we're in her apartment and we're sitting side by side under two blankets and a couple of heating pads, cups of hot chocolate sitting on the table in front of us, MTV Made blaring on about some anime nerd with a crush on Edward Elric and how she wants to go out with some guy named David. She's actually not that bad looking, and she's doesn't really seem that weird--she actually seems kinda fun, but god, who cries when they have to take down their anime posters?

There's a pile of chocolates from Valentine's day sitting next to the cups, and an even bigger pile of wrappers (I have no idea how we mustered the courage to get out from under all the blankets and get chocolates--it's so cold that even under all the shit we've got on us, we're still shivering.) She's sitting with her legs curled up and facing towards me, brushing against my sweatpants every few inches, and I'm sitting here all balled up with my hands around my shins and my knees pressed against my chest, rocking myself just the tiniest bit back and forth.

This is the part of winter I like better--it's still cold, but it's almost March, and even though it doesn't really warm up until May, March makes you think of spring and spring makes you think of flowers and light and warm afternoon thunderstorms. Besides, there's snow outside now and it feels like winter's supposed to feel. I don't mind the cold because it's not windy anymore and there's a reason to go outside that isn't going to your car or running to catch the bus.

She's got her hand on my cheek and she's pulling my head around so that I'm facing her, and I'm wondering what the hell she wants that's so important that she'd take her hand out from the warmth of the Mount Blanket. What the hell's she doing?

She's scared, but I don't know what she's scared of. It feels like we've been like this for minutes but the whole encounter's taken less than five seconds, counting when she said "Hey, Sam?"

And her lips are on mine, and it's not like last time. She's kissing me hard and her hand's on the back of my head, fingers tangled up with my hair and I haven't even had time to close my eyes yet.

I'm kissing her back and I've got my hands around her neck, tongue against her lips.

And then she's laying back and she's pulling me with her, but she's not kissing me anymore, she's just hugging me and I'm totally on top of her, hiding back under the blankets, my head just barely sticking out from under them, my hair falling down over my face. Chances are I look like something from one of those "From the Black Lagoon" books that Carly always used to read when we were in third grade.

What just happened?

--

**SAMWUZHERE1993: **LMFAOOOOO OMG THANK GOD U FINALLY GOT A NEW SN

**samwuzhere2: **you made it for me.

**samwuzhere2: **D:

**samwuzhere2: **so technically i didnt get it, im just using it.

**SAMWUZHERE1993: **WHATEVA

**SAMWUZHERE1993: **NIGGA GO ON A DATE WIT ME

**samwuzhere2 is idle**

Shit.

--

Okay. I'm just gonna make this a twoshot. D: Welllll.. I'm back! :D I kinda had writer's block/writer's short attention span for a while there. x.x But I'm alive again! :D I started this nearly two weeks ago and sorta.. gave up on it after October. XD And oh my god, the first half of December took sooooo long. I just sat here and started at it for the longest time. D:

I actually really like this sorta thingy though.. Maybe I'll do an actual story like this. :3 Except.. XD Knowing me I'll get lazy and let it die. Especially considering I was thinking about doing something like this only, instead of going by months for a year, it'd be a chapter for one day.

D: I could never do that. XD Anywayy.. Imma be quiet now.


	2. Chapter 2

_**March**_

She's beautiful.

She's beautiful and she's cruel without even meaning to be and she's got such a strong hold on my heart and I wish she didn't, but she does.

I don't know when I went from having a tiny little crush on her to being absolutely obsessed with her, but it happened. It happened and I wish she would give me a chance but it's so hard to get to her. I wish I could get under her skin and get into her head and see what she's thinking about and figure out just why she won't look at me the way she's supposed to in all of my stupid lust-filled dreams.

I wonder if she knows and she's scared and she doesn't want this but she doesn't want me to leave her and that's why she's acting the way she is. Maybe she really doesn't know because I'm the only one that it's obvious to.

I don't know how many cans there are around me, and I can't hold my mind still for long enough to count just how many there are, because numbers and letters and words all hurt my head right now. It's bad enough normally, let alone when standing's way too much to ask of me.

I do know that I'm drunk out of my mind and it's not fun like it's supposed to be because I'm by myself and I'm not partying like I should be and I'm just scared and stranded here because I can't walk and it's raining.

She's probably not even avoiding me. I'm just too sensitive. Yeah, that's it. I'm sensitive and I pick up the tiniest, stupidest little things and I break my heart into tiny little pieces over them because I think it's the whole world crumbling before my eyes.

Clouds drift over my head and they're not the friendly white ones that blow gently over perfect blue summer skies. They're angry and black and I think it just dropped 20 degrees. It's dark and all the leaves are caught in the wind and everything's got this weird green tint to it.

I'm by the steps in the back of the middle school, sprawled across one of the black wire picnic tables, all my empty cans of beer laying in piles around me. It's cold and the snow's all melted and there's already leaves and it actually feels a lot like summer (but maybe that's just because I'm used to it being 2 degrees all the time and it's 60) and I'm guessing that's why we're getting summer-like thunderstorms as well.

"Carly.. I'm sorry.." I talk to myself sometimes. I talk to myself and try to remake all the shitty situations that went horribly wrong, as though talking to ghosts and stupid memories that I hold onto like gold will make everything okay again. That having the courage to talk to an imaginary idealized lover will make it any easier to talk to a living, breathing person. That maybe if I spew out enough stupid words, something poetic and meaningful will come out and I can spit it out again sometime and maybe somebody will finally take me seriously when they're supposed to.

The wind tastes like spring fields and the way summer nights feel, and she makes me think of all the nights I spent in the hills by the railroad, with nothing but the glow of city lights and the oversized moon for light and the sound of train cars rolling along for company.

Honestly, yeah, I am a bit of a loner. And yeah, I am a bit of a stupid hopeless romantic, even if you'll never see me act like it when anybody's watching me.

I don't want to lay here and die waiting for some stupid girl, but knowing me, I'll let myself. I'll lay here with my mouth hanging open and I'll let myself fill up with raindrops and I'll just stay, my wrists bent and my hands hanging in the air off the edge of this stupid table.

And Carly, I'm sorry. And Carly, I love you, and Carly, do you hate me?

I've never been drunk like this before, but it already feels like I've done this every day for weeks.

It's exhausting. It's comforting.

It's raining.

Fucking christ.

--

_**April**_

Softly murmured words in the middle of the night filled with good intentions and we're tangled up in each other and we reek of fear and hearts so far gone they'd break before we could see they were even in harm's way. It's dark but we don't need the light and she's scared and I'm scared and we're scared. She's under me and she's all over me and I couldn't get away even if I wanted to.

Words won't do any good and they're useless and they'll sit in the air before they fall and shatter and she's staring up at me and I can see her even when it's as dark as it is, and I'm wondering if maybe she can see me too.

There's crickets outside and they're so goddamn loud and they're making almost much noise as my heart in my throat and I'm wonder if she's scared too.

But of course she's not scared--Carly's never scared of anything, let alone love. Carly would never be afraid of being in love and she would never be afraid of me and she's never going to be scared of anything because she's always the strong one.

She reminds me of a cluttered little house in the middle of a thunderstorm. She reminds me of mountains of books and dusty wood floors and unpainted walls and thunder cracks rattling loose window panes and she tastes like mints and toothpaste and starbursts.

How did we even get here?

Her hands are in my hair and my heart's beating way too fast for it's own good but I honestly couldn't care less about what's good for my heart right now. It's not even my heart anymore.

She's never scared but she's scared now and I can feel her trembling softly under me.

We're so much closer than we've ever been and her tongue's in my mouth and I've always wished that I could be like her and for the first time I'm happy to be myself and I'm happy to be Sam Puckett.

How did we get here?

--

_**May**_

We're both sprawled across some wooden picnic table by the road in some park by the river and she's got the sunflower I picked for her gently grasped between her thumb and her index finger and she has to most adorable hands. They're not soft like they're going to break if I hold them too hard, but they're not manly and disgusting either. They're graceful but strong and they're not really big but they're bigger than mine. There's not scars or random freckles or gross looking hair like mine.

I love her hands. I have a thing for hands and they can make or break what I think about a person, and I love hers. They're absolutely perfect.

I wonder if she knows just how obsessed with her I am. I'm shy and I've never really been good at this whole relationship thing so it's not like I shower her in affection, even though I wish I could, but I do all these tiny stupid little things that I wouldn't normally do for anybody so maybe she gets it.

She's known me for about a billion years, after all. I think she knows.

I hope she knows.

She should know. I never pick flowers for anything, even myself. And I never remember anybody's favorite flower and I never normally care about flowers at all.

She loves sunflowers. She told me that once, nine months ago, but I haven't been able to get it out of my head since then. They've been her favorites since she was three years old and one of her first memories is of a garden filled with towering bright yellow flowers. Her favorite childhood dress (still hanging in the back of her closest) was a blue one, covered in sunflowers, and she told me, laughing and embarrassed, that she'd always turn on the radio above the fridge and spin around in circles, and that was why she never got dizzy anymore if somebody ever spun her around.

"Sam?"

"Yeah?"

She's quiet for a moment, and I'm thinking that maybe this was one of those times where you're not supposed to say anything, and I was stupid enough to say something, since I do have a tendency to do that (what? You thought I got ISS every other week for nothing?) but she's got her fingers over my hand and I can feel them moving just the tiniest little bit over it.

"I love you." Her voice is soft and weak and it shook just the tiniest little bit on the last word and she's chewing on her lip, trying not to look at me, as though she's scared that she's actually going to make me mad.

I'm chewing my lip too, and I'm wondering which one of us started doing that first, because we've both been doing it ever since we met each other but I can never remember doing that before I'd met her. (not that anything before Carly is worth remembering.)

Okay, maybe it's a little tiny bit hard to say something like that.

--

_**June**_

"Sam.."

Her breathing's hard and she's talking into my shoulder, my lips on her neck and my hand's shoved into her boyshorts, her body trailed with little minihickies. She's pressed up against the door and she's got her hands in my hair while she chokes on a moan.

She has a perfect body. She has the most fucking perfect body and I'm the one who gets to feel it pressed up against me and I'm the one who gets to fuck her senseless.

We're in her room at her house and nobody's home but we're not sure how long it's going to be until Spencer comes home, and obviously we didn't quite get around to locking the door, so why not just pin her against it?

I've got both her hands above her head and against the wood door, a hand wrapped tight around her wrists and jesus christ, this is so fucking hot.

And it's stupid that we're doing this because I haven't even told her that I love her but that's how teenagers work, and we're teenagers and honestly, we're not different from any other teenagers. I do love her, and I do want to tell her and I know she's told me she loves me but I don't know.

I'm scared. I'm always the one who's scared.

She's breathing harder and my teeth are on her collarbone, two fingers thrusting inside her.

She's so perfect. She's the sweetest girl in the whole world and she's an angel and I still can't believe thats she's mine. She's all mine. She's funny and she's nice and she's always been able to cheer me up, always, and she can actually tell when I'm sad and she doesn't mind my obsession with ham and she even said that she thought it was cute once.

I'm not even going to try and explain why I love Carly Shay.

It's one of those things that just is.

Her shirt's over her head and her bra's at her ankles and her nipple's in my mouth.

She's shaking and she's moving her hips against my hand and my thumb's on her clit and I can feel her breaking down already, hand around my neck and tangled up in my hair.

"Carly..?"

She looks down at me and she's sweating and her hair's messed up and her face's red and she's still breathing hard.

"I love you too."

--

_**July**_

"I can't believe you're going on vacation. For two weeks." She's mumbling through my hair, while I skip rocks across the water, the sun dipping behind the mountains on the other side of the river. It's July and it's hot but it's not ridiculously hot and it's actually really, really nice.

We're at the park and we're sitting on one of those wood benches facing the river and the sun's setting and there's just the tiniest little breeze and everything's green and in bloom and it's so fucking perfect.

"I'm sorry.." I'm mumbling, leaning my head against hers.

I don't want to go. I really don't, but I can't exactly get out of it, and mom wouldn't let Carly come even though I said she'd chip in for the house and she'd pay for her own plane ticket and she'd even pay for some of our food.

"It's only for a couple of weeks.. I'll be back before you know it!" I'm saying, trying to sound hopeful, but I know that two weeks is an eternity to her and it's even longer to me and I don't want to be away from her, ever.

"I know.." She's mumbling, and she's pulling my head around and she's kissing me and then she's got her head back in my shoulder and I can tell by the tiny jerk that her body made that she's crying. She's not hysterical but I know if I looked at her her eyes would be all watery and she'd be biting her lip and I wish I could take her with me.

"Hey.. I love you, okay? And I'll take tons of pictures and.. and I'll buy you everything I can, alright..? And.. and when I come back, we'll go to that concert you really wanted to go to and I'll stay at your house for a week." I'm saying quickly, stumbling over my words and just hoping that something I say will make her smile.

"I love you too.."

Her hair smells like strawberries and her skin's soft and smooth and I don't want to let her go and she looks so cute right now.

"I'm sorry." I'm saying again and I've never been very good at making anybody feel better, let alone her. Let alone the people I care about, but at least I try and I wish that it was enough and sometimes it is, but this isn't one of those times.

The thing I regret more than anything else is that I slept with Jessica at that stupid party. She tries to tell me that it doesn't matter and all that matters is that she has me now but I know that it does because she was a virgin and she wanted me to be too and she thinks that she doesn't mean as much to me as I mean to her.

I guess I know what she means, but I wish she would get that I love her. I love her so much and I don't want to love anybody else because she's perfect.

"I wish I could go in your suitcase or something,"

"Yeah.. but then I wouldn't have any clothes.."

"Clothes aren't necessary."

She's grinning at me and I wish she wouldn't try so hard to convince me that she's okay and she's kissing me again and she's not pulling away this time.

--

_**August**_

"I can't believe school's starting again." I'm mumbling hopelessly, leaning against her shoulder. I can't believe it. Summer went by too fast. I just finished buying school supplies and we're going shopping tomorrow to get new clothes.

"Hey, last year didn't turn out nearly as bad as you thought it would, right?"

"That means this year's going to be that much worse." I'm groaning, falling into her lap and holding my hands over my face.

"Sweetie, don't worry. I promise it won't suck too much."

"Sweetie?" That's new.

"Shut up, I'm trying to comfort you."

"Then why do I still have a shirt?" I'm so romantic, I know.

"..Shut up."

--

This was weak. I hate the ending. D:

I hate my lack of writing ability. I hate everything.

DDDDDDD:

Somebody shoot me now and burn this.


End file.
